


Funny How The Night Moves

by summer_days



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e15 Peace of Mind, Gen, Happy Ending, Hell, I just had a lot of feelings about this episode okay, I just want Sam to get a good night sleep okay?, Kinda, Night Moves by Bob Seger, and this is the result, apologies to Bob Seger, because Sam has so much experience with it, but the song would not leave me alone, episode coda, it was about the word, that flinch wasn't just about the swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 07:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18231500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summer_days/pseuds/summer_days
Summary: Cas said "hell". Justin flinched. But it wasn't just the act of swearing - it was the word.





	Funny How The Night Moves

Justin Smith closed the door on the government agent in a huff. How _dare_ that man use such language! Still, his mind kept turning the word over.

_Hell._ It had quite a few meanings, didn’t it? It was the baying of invisible hounds, it was an empty passenger seat, it was iron on his tongue, it was fire and ice and rage, ripping, tearing into him, and _it doesn’t matter because you’re happy, yes?_

But the word kept coming back. Sipping a martini, eating lunch, walking in the park….the word kept echoing.

Great shadows of wings - _just a bird, and isn’t this a lovely day?_

Echoing screams beyond the range of human hearing - _no, it’s just the children playing, and aren’t they so happy?_

Words in another language he understood - didn’t understand - wished he was deaf because at least it would mean - _it doesn’t matter because you’re **happy** **.** _

And he was. He was happy.

His name was Justin Smith, and he was happy.

  


_“Sam, you fail Dean.”_

**_Dean._ **

_Stone number one, and build on it._

A phantom pain flashed through his left palm and the angel blade seemed to stab itself into the floor, well away from the dark haired head before him.

Sam - _and that was his name, not Justin, how could he ever forget _\- Sam all but ripped the glasses off his face and stared at the man - the _angel_ below him. “Cas?”

And memories came flooding back. Memories of hell, yes, but also memories of what came before and, more importantly, what came after. Memories of failure, but also memories of persevering through almost endless valleys, _and Sam had been fighting for Dean too long to give up on his life now._

Dean wasn’t allowed to throw himself into the Pacific, Sam couldn’t lose himself to Pleasantville.

He was a Winchester, and Winchesters don’t quit. No matter how much crap they go through - and _damn,_ but Sam hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed swearing until he was able to do it again, even if it was just in the relative safety of his own mind.

Because even though he’d broken the mayor’s hold over him, the other man’s presence hadn’t completely disappeared. It was still there, lurking at the edge of Sam’s mind, waiting to overpower Sam with _calm, safe, **happy.**_

But Sam could recognize it now, in a way he hadn’t been able to when he and Cas had first walked into the soda shop yesterday - _and had it only be yesterday? Typical Winchester luck_ \- and more importantly, Sam could fight it, the same way he’d been fighting expectations his entire life.

Besides, he was a Winchester. _Calm_ and _safe_ didn’t appear in his vocabulary. _Happy_ wasn’t all that common either, but Sam knew it was there. He could remember it, could remember using it.

Their first Winchester family dinner, bittersweet though it might have been.

Prank wars with Dean.

A hunt done well.

His brother at his side, the two of them teasing each other back and forth on long drives.

Sam may not have used the word in a while, but he still knew what it meant to him. And living the fake fantasy of someone else wasn’t it.

Regardless of how much Sam may have wanted to escape from the Bunker, from his shit-show of a life, _it was still his life, dammit._

And no two-bit psychic with a god complex was going to take that away from him.

  


And after Cas drove them both out of town and to a motel that was close without leaving Sam paranoid he’d be sucked back into the fifties, he collapsed on a bed and slept straight through the night and into the morning for the first time in over a week.

No nightmares.

Just an out-of-reach blonde from a lifetime ago, a border collie, and, in a dream that had Sam relaxing out of his usual tension, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala cruising down some highway, Bob Seger winding out of the cassette player and a green-eyed, freckled brother behind the wheel.

  


_Ain't it funny how the night moves_

_When you just don't seem to have as much to lose_

_Strange how the night moves_

_With autumn closing in_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments will be adored and cherished.


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